


But you can be my forest love, and me your forest lass

by rc6188



Series: Never Wanted to Leave [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Post-Battle, arya calls gendry my lord, gendry POV, gendry is so in love, my featherbed, post 8x03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 10:37:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18715330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rc6188/pseuds/rc6188
Summary: They lay on her featherbed, the first rays of sunlight filtering through a tall window, cascading warm ripples of gold onto her hair, making it dance.He did not know how to write the words‘I love you,’but if he did, Gendry thought that he would write it a thousand times across her skin, with his finger, his lips, his tongue.





	But you can be my forest love, and me your forest lass

Gendry thought, taking in another deep inhale that filled his senses with the distinct sweet smell of her, that he’d never felt this sort of comfort in his life. They lay on her featherbed, the first rays of sunlight filtering through a tall window, cascading warm ripples of gold onto her hair, making it dance. 

Their legs were entangled beneath the covers and the arm that Gendry had snaked around her smaller form when her breaths had evened out was still there, his forefinger tracing unintelligible words on her skin. He did not know how to write the words _‘I love you,’_ but if he did, Gendry thought that he would write it a thousand times across her skin, with his finger, his lips, his tongue. 

Instead, he settled on pursing his lips against the pale skin of her shoulder, which had revealed itself when the wide collar of his tunic had slipped off during the night. Gendry almost chuckled at the memory of Arya demanding that he give her one of his tunics to wear to sleep as if she was simply asking him to fetch her some water. He had shot her a bewildered look, and stumbled across his words, before finally settling on, _“What, why?”_

Arya shrugged her shoulders. _“They look comfortable.”_ When Gendry moved to leave her room to rummage through his own meager belongings, she stopped him with a small hand around his wrist. He whipped around startled. 

_“This one will do just fine,”_ Arya said, her fingers tugging on the white fabric of the tunic he currently wore. 

Gendry did not even have the time to sheepishly apologize for the frayed seams or the worn fabric, for Arya had shucked off her nightgown in one swoop. It left her completely bare before she tugged on the tunic he had just donned. It’s sleeves fell past the tips of her fingers and the bottom seam reached midway past her thighs—and suddenly, Gendry couldn’t breathe. 

Now, he smiled into the nape of her neck, his fingers splayed across the threadbare linen, burning from the warmth that radiated from her skin. Gendry had woken before her and he had tried to stay as still as he could, scared to rouse her. Arya deserved to rest—to sleep until all the blistering angry gashes turned into mellow white lines that did not cause her to flinch when he accidentally brushed against them. 

Gendry’s heart clenched painfully when his eyes settled on the wound that ran across her forehead. It was stitched up and appeared much smaller than it had yesterday and Arya had insisted it did not hurt when he’d asked. But Gendry could not help but feel a sharp twist of hurt when he raised a hand to brush a few stray strands of hair from her forehead, the tips of his fingers resting just below the bruised skin. He wished it had been him that was hit and not her. 

Arya let out a small, contented sigh and Gendry found that the pain in his chest lightened. He slid his hand from her hair to cup her cheek and Arya suddenly turned her head then, planting a soft kiss against his weathered palm. She faced him fully now as she opened her eyes slowly, her eyelashes clinging together in protest. Her pupils were blown wide and he could only see a rim of grey—but even more intriguing, her eyes were the softest he’d ever seen on Arya. Gendry let out a long exhale, one that he didn’t even realize he was holding. 

“The princess has finally awoken,” he teased. His voice so rich with emotion that Gendry cleared his throat reflexively in response, hoping Arya wouldn’t notice. 

“Sorry to have kept you waiting, my lord.” She replied, a smirk forming on her lips. 

Gendry snorted then, fighting off the weird fluttering sensation that had suddenly settled in his stomach. 

“I’m not a lord, milady.”

“But you could be,” she whispered softly, her forefinger coming up beneath the covers to trace the swell of his bottom lip. 

But he couldn’t. Gendry was no lord—he could never be one. He was a boy from Flea Bottom, a boy who couldn’t read or write, a boy who had not a single clue about political alliances or battlefield strategy. The first thought he had after finding out that he was King Robert’s bastard was not that he could potentially rule Storm’s End and become a lord, but that he may now finally be worthy of becoming Arya’s family. But lately, he thought, he had learned that he was willing to do anything—anything at all—if it meant he would never have to let go of Arya ever again. And well, if it meant becoming a lord, then so be it. 

Arya pinched his cheek then, tearing him from his thoughts. He could see that she wanted to push the topic further, but she refrained and he was thankful. 

“What do you think you’ll do after this?” She asked instead. Her stormy eyes roamed his face, mimicking the movements of her finger, which was now tracing the jut of his cheekbone. 

“Probably go help clean up the bodies—”

“No, I meant after...after everything is over,” Arya interrupted, her expression unreadable. 

The question caught Gendry off guard, and he thought for a second before responding. He chose his words carefully this time, not wanting to repeat the same mistakes he made all those years back. 

“I’ve never had a family,” he started, swallowing hard, “but I was, uh, hoping—I was hoping you could be my family.”

Gendry couldn’t bear to look at her then, too afraid that he might find rejection in her eyes just like she probably found in his years ago. Instead, he focused on the pale line of her throat, watching as it rose and fell with the movement of a swallow.

Then he saw a clear droplet meander it’s way from her chin and down her throat. Gendry’s head snapped back up and his eyes widened in surprise as he saw the tears falling down her cheeks. Before he could even begin apologizing, however, Arya swung a leg over his midriff and tackled him into the featherbed, both hands coming up to bracket his head. If Gendry wasn’t still in shock from the sudden turn of events, or the warm droplets that were now hitting his cheeks from above him, he would have made a jest about how their current positions were reminiscent of the other night. 

But even if he’d wanted to, he would not be able to get a word out as Arya was now looking at him so fondly that it took his breath away. 

A wet laugh escaped Arya’s throat and her eyes crinkled as a broad grin spread across her face, “Of course I will be, you stupid bull-headed boy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Oops, there I go again forgoing all of my responsibilities to write Gendrya at 11:00am. Hope you guys enjoy <3
> 
> (On a side note, I'm so freaking excited for episode 4 tomorrow!)


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